


Atonement

by Bobblychicken



Category: Planes (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8021464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobblychicken/pseuds/Bobblychicken
Summary: In the year 1944, eight Naval Corsairs were ambushed and shot down over Glendalcanal during a routine reconnaissance mission. Only one survived. Now Alta Flyheight (introduced here: http://bobblychicken.tumblr.com/post/143973520777/that-ol-black-magic) must pick up the pieces and learn how to deal with a recovering Skipper, who needless to say is not the same plane that she once knew. Rated for language and mild violence.





	Atonement

When news had reached where she was stationed in the Midway Atoll, it had struck Alta like a shot to her engine. An entire squadron of Corsairs were apparently ambushed and shot down over Glendalcanal near the Solomon Islands, where she knew that Skipper was stationed. She felt like someone had stabbed her deep into the heart of her being, and she had despaired. But there were rumors that one survivor had been pulled from the ocean. After that there was no more news of the incident. The female Corsair busied herself attending to her duties, assuring herself that if it was indeed Skipper's squadron that was destroyed, she surely would have felt it if he had been killed. And then after an agonizing two weeks, Alta was approached by her superiors, telling her that she was to be temporarily transferred to the Ellice Islands.

It was Skipper's squadron that had been attacked, she had learned, and he was the only one that survived. No one on the Flysenhower had any idea what had happened. There had been no distress signals of any kind. When the squadron had failed to show back up, scouts had been turned out for their last known whereabouts over Glendalcanal. By the time they arrived, the ocean's surface was littered with the corpses of the doomed fighters, and when they found Skipper, he was barely alive.

In her briefing, she was told that once on board the Flysenhower, Skipper's condition was deemed too critical to try to be treated on the carrier, and so he was stabilized and sent to the naval base on Funafuti in the Ellice Island Atoll to undergo extensive repairs. Repairs were successful, but they were having a difficult time recovering him, and that was the reason for Alta being summoned.

"You can't expect us not to know of your proximity with each other," the Commander of the base was saying as she was lead down the hallways of the hospital, keeping silent, "...and while your behavior hasn't exactly been kosher at times, we thank you for your otherwise discretion. But if this situation isn't a perfect example of an exception to break protocol, then we don't know what is."

"And what is the situation, Commander," Alta finally spoke.

"The situation is that a fresh squadron of promising Corsairs was destroyed over Glendalcanal without a single clue as to what happened. Lieutenant Skipper was the only one that survived, and he's not talking. He's not doing much of anything, really."

"What do you mean?" Alta asked, and then she felt it.

As they continued to travel down the hallway toward the medical hangar where Skipper was being held, the female Navy fighter felt his distress like a knife in the middle of her Soul. Forgetting herself, she suddenly went dashing down the hall. Pain, guilt, anguish... all increasing in volume as she remembered herself and what her purpose for being here was and slid to a halt in front of the entrance to the hangar, transitioning back into a dignified steady gate in one stride. She slid open the doors. Skipper was inside, laid out across a sleeping mat, and yet riveted in place by chains, and she could practically see it. See the ugly, warped mess that marred his Soul as he lay, inert, his face awash in numb, terrible grief. His hollow, dull eyes stared ahead, unblinking as he mumbled little bits and whimpers of incoherent, weak words. Alta wished that she hadn't looked at them.

"Why is this plane chained?" she asked indignantly to the medical personnel that had been going about taking different readings and vital measurements.

"He's not always like this," said the forklift Commander as he came up at Alta's side, staring at the torpid Corsair, "It doesn't happen often, but he is prone to unprovoked, explosive fits of anger and violence. It's half for our safety and half for his."

"Please..." Alta implored, her voice thick with sorrow in spite of herself. "... let him go. I can't bear to see him chained."

"As you wish. I'm sure you're more than capable of defending yourself," the gray forklift said, motioning for the others to remove the chains. "That being said... Alta."

The female war plane turned slightly, looking down at him.

"As much as we honestly are sympathetic to whatever Skipper has gone through, we need to find out what happened over Glendalcanal. Our government, and no doubt the families of the fighters killed, deserve an explanation. He must talk. Your duty on this base is to be immediately on hand to settle him when he experiences his outbursts and see if you can't encourage him to regain some semblance of control, or else if it is futile, you know what you have to do."

They looked at one another for a moment then, expressions giving nothing away.

"Yes, Commander."

Everyone was ordered out of the room, save for Alta, who slid over closer to Skipper. He seemed utterly oblivious to anyone who might be in the room. The female Corsair's brow quirked in pity and focused confusion. She could feel his Soul, but it was not responding to her presence, her own Soul rippling in helpless hurt and frustration. She leaned down and forward, and touched her nose to Skipper's flank. She had barely even made contact when his engine let out a harsh rev and he sprang up as if jabbed by a sautering iron, shoving her away. Skipper hobbled up onto his front landing gear for a moment, his engine fluttering harshly and transitioning into a hoarse squealing once or twice before he settled back down again, his breathing heavy and labored as his eyes still stared numbly ahead at nothing. From that tiny point of contact alone, Alta could feel that the male Corsair's agony was acute, and he strained as his Soul attempted to cycle through avenues that were now twisted and deformed.

"Oh, Skipper..."

She wanted so badly to go to him. To just lay over him, but it was not time for that yet. It was clear that he was in such a condition that he did not recognize her as the friend, confidant, and perhaps something more that she was. As dire as the situation was, things would need to be taken slowly. She could not try to force herself on him when he was still so fragile. So Alta resigned to keep clear for now, just analyzing and feeling the situation at hand while giving him a chance to try to settle himself, which was what she figured she was looking at now. And when the time was right, whenever that might happen, she would take action.

She left Skipper in his medical hangar, ordering that sentries should be placed outside of the closed doors to alert of any trouble, but that no one be allowed to enter without her present. Then she called for the medical officer in charge of Skipper's case to be summoned, and the little gray forklift that accompanied her, bedecked in the symbol of the red cross as his superior, was not at all what she was expecting as far as an assistant to such a doctor, and she struggled to hold herself steady at the sight of him. His face was frighteningly young for someone who was supposed to be an adult. It was like it was untraveled by time, unvisited by grief or wisdom. And yet...

As Alta went over all of Skipper's recent medical records and discussed treatment plans and conditions with the solid green, sturdy female forklift, the Corsair kept looking over at her rather diminutive aide. The young male forklift said nothing, letting his uppers speak, but he was definitely listening to everything that was said, but in an odd, almost dismissive manner of tucking it all away just for good measure, which both annoyed and confused Alta.

Despite the impactful first impression, she had soon forgotten about him until later, laying on her own sleeping mat in the far corner of Skipper's room, allowing the obtunded Corsair to try to heal on his own in peace while processing and analyzing the activity. Then suddenly he was there, just a little ways away, the little gray forklift watching Skipper with the same quiet intent. Alta had no idea how long he'd been standing there; he could have been there the entire time, but as soon as she'd taken notice he turned and spoke to her.

"I know I shouldn't be here, but that's a good move, keeping your distance too, but of course an aircraft would know better."

"This is as close as I can get without disturbing him. Any closer and he'll start to coil like a spring, like he's still preparing for a fight," then Alta's face fell somewhat in hurt and sorrow, "He doesn't recognize me..."

"Oh, he recognizes you, don't worry," the forklift assured her, "Even if he were blind he would know you. It's only trying to hold down control, otherwise he would gladly go to you in favor of concentrating on healing."

"That still only tells me that my presence is doing more harm than good."

"Not true," said the little forklift. "I'd say there's already been a great improvement over how he was when before. And when he was brought on board..."

"We're you there?" the female Corsair asked, turning to him with interest.

"I was," he answered, his voice gone soft and his already pale paint paling further still at the memory. "When we told him... that he was the only one that survived... I... have a hard time comprehending it myself, but I'm only surprised that it didn't break, if I was feeling only half of what he was. He could still break if we're not careful."

And then Alta halted in her thoughts, realizing for the first time the entire time that they had been talking, that when fellow war plane and tiny little forklift looked upon Skipper, they were both seeing the same thing.

"Who are you?" she asked, a touch of curious suspicion coloring her voice and features.

"My name is Sparky," he answered, simply, her demeanor seeming to go over his head. "You wouldn't have heard of me."

The female Corsair came very near to explaining that it was hardly for her to have heard of one medic or another, but something sad and valiant in his voice kept her from it.

"I normally don't deal with cases like this," Sparky continued. "I mostly just clean up; take the hydraulic fluid and oil-soaked rags and tools out of the way of the doctors. It's not much of a job for a medic, but then again, I am still pretty fresh and I've had worse. I'm not even really Dr. Buennell's assistant."

"So then why are you here?"

"I don't know myself, to tell you the truth. Skipper goes through these phases you see, where he looks like he does now, then all of a sudden he'll dissent and try to take back control and he becomes very violent. It was during one of those episodes that I happened to be there and I was able to get him to calm down."

"How did you manage that?" Alta asked the young forklift.

"I don't know," he answered again, looking thoughtful. "Everyone takes me for a clown or a clod, even though I'm older than I look. Even you, when you first saw me. But I just knew, that when I first saw him dropped onto the deck of the Flysenhower after being pulled from the ocean, that I was his friend. Maybe he knows he's my friend, too?"

Alta smiled gently. _This little forklift knows more than he knows he knows._ And yet for all that, at the same time, he always seemed to have this air of resolute bewilderment about him. What a strange little fellow! All the same, the female warplane had the distinct feeling that he was her friend, too, and would soon discover just how strange a forklift Sparky really was. A few days later, she had been paged urgently to Skipper's bay. He was having another disphoric episode, the first that she would actually be able to witness, but to her disgust and indignation she found the room full of medical personnel by the time she arrived. They were all over him. Either applying monitoring equipment or else attempting to hold him down, an ill endeavor, but for all the activity and disturbance, he didn't altogether seem to be reacting to them, however he thrashed, snarled and roared. It was like he was fighting something else, rather. Alta was about to voice her severe displeasure in having her order's disobeyed when suddenly everything seemed to go still as a tiny little grey forklift suddenly seemed to appear out of nowhere, steadily but deliberately approaching the disturbed Corsair.

Everyone was quiet in shock, staring at the sight of Sparky rolling up smoothly to Skipper as the big plane struggled, letting out a despairingly defiant roar against an invisible enemy as the young forklift slowly began to raise his tines to him, placatingly, beckoningly, his expression softly focused, but otherwise unreadable. And that's when Alta felt it. Something she didn't understand. A foreign signature, so faint and lonely that she was not sure whether she had really felt it or not as it brushed against her. And then she thought that she felt and saw Skipper pause. He swayed, frame tilting and making other minute movements as his blank eyes stared ahead, as if trying to listen. He bowed his nose, backing away as his engine chuffed and fluttered. It appeared to be over, but then a thin, stabbing cry of loss and weariness and utter anguish tore from Skipper's throat, engine roaring back up again as he tossed his frame back, along with another sound that only Alta had heard. It was a small and helpless sound, but yet not yielding, and just when it clicked in her mind exactly what the male Corsair was fighting, Sparky had already shouted in horror and hopelessness.

"He's breaking!"

Alta barely had any recollection of what took place next, only that she felt as if being moved under a marionette's strings, knowing exactly what to do without knowing it. Her form seemed to float fleetly and gracefully to stop in front of the raging war plane, and everyone cleared out of the way, save for Sparky, who still kept a respectful distance, but was much closer than the other personnel would dare, something that even they, in the deepest part of themselves, felt almost paralyzed with in fear and awe. An aura was thrown out, and it crashed against the distressed, warring aura radiating outward from Skipper.

_**"Skipper!"** _

The words were half commanded, half will and intention as the attempts slowed from Skipper's end, but he was stubborn and would not be deterred so easily. This time he looked at her. Actually looked at her through his dull, terrible eyes, lips curling curling to reveal the first of the sharp teeth in the backs of his jaws as his engine growled lowly, but Alta held him in her own strained, but determined stare.

"It's _me..._ " she stressed, feeling him begin to subside just that much further.

Finally, feeling another pause, she took the opportunity and began to roll closer, simultaneously drawing him in so that they both rested cheek-to-cheek, extending her influence in closer quarters as she murmured firmly but soothingly as she continued to push.

_"You are safe here; there is no threat. Focus on healing."_

Alta wrapped her Soul in and about the other plane, blinding Skipper's own and himself to each other and the outside world. She continued to speak to him in measured tones, stroking over his fuselage with her nose and propeller blades, silently pleading for him to let go. After several tense moments of hesitation, Skipper relented, and with much effort tilted his body to give Alta better access to his softer spots.

"Alta..."

The female Corsair kept her joy and relief under wraps as she felt and watched in her mind Skipper's resistance bleeding away, and she continued to soothe until he had given up all control. Exhaustion settled into tenacity's place, and Alta enveloped him in comfort and reassurance as she gently moved him back and lowered him back down on the sleeping mat, where she continued stroking him until the war plane's eyes closed and he returned to the task of healing. Then she turned to face the dumbfounded medical staff.

"None of you belong here. Leave," she commanded, taking great care to control her anger at what could have happened. "You are only to come when I ask for assistance; I will not say it a third time."

They all filed out, seeming to be somewhat shaken, but yet confused. Sparky went to follow them, but was called back by Alta.

"Sparky."

The young forklift stopped, reversing and then turning back to the female war plane, whereupon the last of the other personnel leaving she finally collapsed down onto her belly, shaking and panting. Sparky approached her, acting as if he hadn't noticed her weakness, although he, too, was trembling, his breaths coming in little puffs.

"And that..." he began, breaking the stunned silence that had been holding them. "...is why you were called here."

"Could you really see it?" Alta asked, her voice weary, "Do you really know what we are?"

"Yes," was Sparky's soft answer.

"How long?"

"I don't know. I've always been able to, really. I just never knew that I was different."

"And you've never told anyone? You might have saved Skipper a lot of grief."

"No. I almost did, once, a long time ago. But that's when I realized that not everyone was like me, so I've kept it to myself. And to my defense, it isn't always clear. A lot of times I can't make any sense of what I'm looking at; my mind will just go blank, like there's a fence around it or something. Besides, who's going to believe a baby-faced little forklift anyway?"

Alta's brows quirked softly, dipping her nose in understanding as she gazed down tiredly at Sparky.

"You were amazing, by the way," he continued. "I thought Skipper was a goner for sure that time."

"Well I don't think I could have done it if it weren't for you," Alta said sincerely, "Although I hope it really is over. If it were to happen another time I might not be able to."

"I think it safe now," said Sparky, turning to look over at the male Corsair now laying quietly on his sleeping mat. "I'll leave you to yourselves."

Alta rose from her spot on the floor, moving toward Skipper, touching her nose to the side of his and feeling a meditative tranquility as the young forklift took his leave. Just before passing through the doors, Sparky turned back, smiling.

"You _could_ do it again, you know."

Alta smiled back, then lay down, snuggling her nose up over the crook of Skipper's wing, again resting cheek-to-cheek, her smile fading.

_...Why Skipper?_

XXxx

A week had passed. Skipper had been up, fully lucid and even taking food within a few days of his last incident, but said little, least not of what happened to he and his squadron over Glendalcanal. Not that Alta was even pressing all that hard, if at all; she was still getting used to him being aware. He was... different now. All traces of that classic, mellow confidence and patient wit were gone, and were now replaced by resigned but tense brooding. He largely ignored everyone and only tolerated Alta being in his presence for any long period of time. Tolerated. Whereas Skipper's aggression toward her before had been more defensive in nature and not even altogether his own, now there was a definite undercurrent of sad, injured animosity that confused and frightened her.

Alta had been of the mind that it was over when she had managed to push him back from his last outburst, but the feelings of inner dissent and turmoil continued to radiate from him and simmer bitterly, deeply disturbing the female war plane even further. While she was determined not to be cowed, it was taking all of her power not to flee as fear rippled and spasmed in the heart of her. And all the while the Navy reps were behind her, pushing.

Day after day, she had watched him, still in disbelief at what her most trusted confidant had transformed into, but time was running out. She couldn't be kept from her duties forever, and there was word that they were going to be shifting a lot of fighters over to New Guinea. The way Skipper was behaving right now, they would have no choice but to send her off, leaving him solely at their mercy. He hardly even allowed Sparky near him, and during their last interaction, the young male forklift apparently having the same foreboding thoughts as Alta, had tried speaking to Skipper himself in getting him to open up about what happened. He barely even finished one sentence before the Corsair suddenly snarled and charged him without warning, Sparky barely escaping with his rear intact after being chased from the room. That had been the last straw for Alta.

Early the next evening, she had taxied purposefully toward Skipper's bay, her expression determined as she checked herself briefly at the door. He was there, partially lying down on his sleeping mat, staring ahead like always with his own stoic, condemned acceptance. He didn't acknowledge her as she came to a stop just in front of him.

"Skipper, you have got to stop this," she scolded, "Enough. Tell me. What happened during that mission over Glendalcanal?"

He turned slightly, a certain glint coming into his eyes as they smoldered angrily when they fell upon her.

"I'm not telling anyone a damn thing," he growled. "Least of all not you. It should be obvious to anyone with a brain what happened; you don't need to hear it from me."

He turned away from her. That comment had cut Alta deeply, especially the hurt undertone of betrayal with which he said it with. She tried again, softening her tone.

"Skipper... I know that this is very hard for you," she began gently, the male warplane continuing to ignore her, "Having to re-live all that happening; what you must have seen, but please... You've got to tell us what happened. Don't you think _they'd_ want their families to have some closure?"

At that Skipper abruptly rose from his position, laying a glare onto Alta that had froze and horrified her in her core.

"Don't you _dare_ try to use them against me!" he shouted, "Like the Brass is using _you_ against me! That's all you're here for isn't it?" And Alta's composure fell completely as a low, threatening rumble began thrumming up from his engine. "And you're just going right along with it, true to form, you double-crossing, feckless snake!"

The last word was drowned out in roar of his engine as Skipper charged Alta with the unassailable might of a bull, but she did not shy away, only doggedly met him, and the two Corsairs reared up into one another as they began to bite and snap at each other savagely. Skipper had the advantage of weight, and nearly succeeded in bringing her down twice, but Alta was not to be taken down so easily, and held her ground. Engines snarling, they traded blows that would have singly taken out other planes. Finally, dodging another blow from Skipper's jaws as he aimed straight for her face, she darted to the side, leaping up over his back and wrestling him roughly to the ground. She pinned him, fighting with every last ounce of her strength as he struggled underneath her. Only when she bit him with a fair, but warning, amount of pressure in his back right behind his canopy did he still, the feeling of teeth in such a vulnerable part of him causing him to instinctively cease his thrashing. When she felt him relax underneath her, Alta let him go.

"That. Is. _Enough!_ " She panted. "Look at yourself! Look at what you've been reduced to! I saw what you looked like when they pulled you out of the ocean. I knew right then and there what hell you'd gone through; how valiantly you must have fought to survive. You are the only other plane that I've ever looked up to... That I hoped that I would be too. How dare you... How dare you do this to me?!"

"But I was supposed to die!" he wailed, shaking the female Corsair out of her fury for a moment. "Why didn't you all just let me die?!"

"Stop this, Skipper!" Alta barked, a short, angry rev blowing out from her engine, "There was no way you could have predicted what happened; it wasn't in your control!"

"You're damn right it wasn't! And because I couldn't stand up and be a leader, they're all dead! Seven excellent planes... gone... I could see all of their futures... and it was all destroyed because of me..."

"You're right... You've made a terrible mistake... but that doesn't mean then that you should destroy yours..."

"What future do I have now? We are war planes. We have our purposes in life, and I failed mine. What else could I possibly do now that my career is over? What else could I possibly offer to anyone?"

"Please don't talk like that, Skipper," Alta urged, before continuing in a firm, steady tone, "You are more than just what you were built for. So much more. You're going to give it all back one day. I know you are."

There was a silence then as the female Corsair felt the frame underneath her slump somewhat. Warily, she kept up her hold on him, but then he spoke, softly.

"Just before we dove... Just before everything went to hell... Jigsaw Two, he looked at me. He looked at me and he smiled. Then he was gone. There has not been a single day that has gone by... where I haven't see that smile..."

Sorrow and sympathy winked sharp in Alta's throat, like a fishhook setting fast in it. Skipper continued.

"Please... Could you live with yourself if it were you?"

"But there is no repentance in death!" Alta shouted past her emotions, "If you are truly sorry, then live! Atone! This is war, Skipper! Most of us are going to die. We all, _they_ all, knew this going in. If it wasn't that time, they would have followed you to another end another time. They loved and respected you so much. What would they think if they saw you now? Just keep going, don't be a damn..."

She stopped short, her eyes shut tight fighting back tears and she squeezed the male warplane hard in her landing gear. Then she slid off of him, but she did not let go. Skipper cried his apologies and fears to her as she held him, saying quiet words of comfort and encouragement. They both lay, embracing each other as they wept, still holding onto one another when they both awoke the next morning.

**Author's Note:**

> See what I did there?


End file.
